


Pages

by MaxWrite



Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [13]
Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Mission: Impossible (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: Tom and Simon go on a little getaway together to reconnect after months of tension within their relationship.
Relationships: Tom Cruise/Simon Pegg
Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/16584
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	Pages

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, hi. Hello. I am indeed alive. Sorry in advance for the long note.
> 
> Suffice it to say, I've had a stressful year, as I'm sure many of you have as well. Writing took a backseat to a lot of things and in fact this is not a new piece. I wrote this just after the _Mission: Impossible – Fallout_ press tour ended. I'm just now getting around to thinking it's good enough to actually post. So here it is. And btw, for anyone reading this who was reading the other thing too, I haven't forgotten about it. The Simon/Chris thing. Believe me it's like a friggin' tell-tale heart pounding away at my back while I try to ignore it.
> 
> Anyway this takes place during the weekend of Sunday, February 18th, 2018. No, I have idea what they were actually doing around that time. Doesn't matter. I just needed a time that was after filming had wrapped but before the _Fallout_ premiere, _and_ a day when there was a hockey game in which the Leafs won. Now, the game I'm referencing actually took place in Detroit, but this is fiction and I can do what I want, so I've put the boys and the game in Toronto instead. I wanted the boys in the hotel suite inside the Rogers' Centre that overlooks the arena where games are played.
> 
> Anyway, none of this really matters 'cause it's all just a backdrop. Have I ever mentioned how much I regret the name of this series? I don't know shit about hockey.
> 
> The meaning of the title is two-fold. One because this feels like a series of long drabbles to me rather than a cohesive story, like each section belongs on its own page. The second reason will become clear at the end. They're both pretty weak reasons. I've become terrible at naming things.
> 
> Couple of final things. First apologies for any typos. Second, no, Simon is not a redhead. A lot of people think he is but he's not. Parts of his beard are ginger, which suggests that other parts of him could have ginger hair too, but not his head. Tragic, I know. Yes, this is relevant for reasons.
> 
> And last, I'm sorry if them arguing is annoying. Writing their fights is fun for me, especially because they get to make up at the end.

**Day 1 - Afternoon**

"What are you two gonna do in a hotel room for three days?"

"I dunno," Tom says distractedly. He's slouched on the sofa of his and Simon's hotel suite, a 400-square footer with a big picture window on the far wall of the living room that looks down on the arena where tonight's hockey game will take place. "We won't be inside the whole time," he adds as he taps and swipes his fingertip across his phone screen while he's speaking to his eldest daughter on the same phone. "There's plenty of stuff to do in Toronto."

"You sound distracted. What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just playing a game."

"Game?"

"Yeah, on my phone."

"While you're talking to me? I feel so special. Since when do you play games on your phone?"

"I love mobile games."

"No, you don't. Quick, what's Candy Crush?"

"It's, uh –"

"Too slow."

"Is it a carbonated beverage?" Tom asks, knowing full well that it isn't.

"You're a hopeless case. What game are you playing?"

"Don't worry about it – shit, just stay in the – _ugh_." Tom closes the app in frustration. "I'd prefer not to be made fun of for my mobile game choices. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Me and Megan are going post-Valentine's Day shopping. Discount heart-shaped chocolate is my religion."

"Well, you two have fun. Don't eat too much of that stuff."

"Dad –"

"You're not getting any younger. Your body's ability to just bounce back from any sort of indulgence is rapidly diminishing."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Sugar is poison and I love you."

"I love you, too. Say hi to Simon for me."

Tom ends the call with a button press and pulls the ear piece out of his ear just as Simon calls to him from the bedroom.

"What _are_ we gonna do in this hotel room for three days?"

"There's plenty to do!" Tom replies. "You wanted to go shopping at some point, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but then what?"

"I wanted to make use of that huge tub in the bathroom."

"You do love a romantic bubble bath … but then what?"

"We're supposed to be madly in love. I'm sure we can think of plenty to do with each other for a couple of days, especially after the last several months. I've missed you."

**Day 1 - Evening**

The game is over but Tom remains at the big window in the living room of his and Simon's suite; overlooking the ice rink in the 10,000-seat arena down below, with a perfect view of the big screen and everything happening on the ice. Someone who's as big a fan as Tom should probably want to be down there with the roaring crowd, front row in that chilly air, eating arena food instead of 5-star room service. He would've loved that. Maybe next time.

The soft brush of fabric against fabric sounds from behind him; Simon emerging from the bedroom, the spacious area situated on a slightly lower level in the suite. The _shh-shh-shh_ noise gets a little faster as Simon trots up the five steps into the living room.

"Is the ice ball tournament finally over?" Simon asks as he approaches. He comes and wraps around Tom from behind, nuzzling at the back of his head and pressing against his back from chest to groin. This is what Tom would've missed if he'd been down there instead of up here; standing here watching the ice resurfacer down below doing its gentle gliding dance up and down the rink, with Simon cuddled around him, all warm and smelling faintly of that cologne that Tom likes; a little spicy, a little floral, a little citrusy. He would have wanted to get right back up here with Simon after such a good game. He's happy, and a happy Tom is a cuddly Tom.

"Yes, ice ball is finished for the night," Tom says in a placating tone. He turns on the spot to face Simon, holds him close by the waist. "You have my undivided attention again."

Simon's got his glasses on, a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The basic tee is thin; he's got his dog tag necklace around his neck and Tom can just make out the rectangular silver tag through the shirt fabric. The pale peachy color of his skin just barely shows through too, seductively suggesting that Tom is seeing more than he actually is. Or is about to.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to seduce me," Tom says.

"I haven't the slightly idea what you're talking about." Simon says innocently. "Who won the ice ball?"

"What? Oh, Leafs, three to two."

"Which were they again?"

"The blue-and-white guys."

"Ohhhh, okay. Shoulda said that in the first place. I can remember colors. You know I don't know which ones the Leaves are otherwise."

" _Leafs_. With an 'f'."

"That's stupid."

"That's their name. 'Maple Leaves' sounds weak."

"And 'Maple Leafs' doesn't?"

"Nah, it's that hard 'f' that sells it."

"You always did like a hard 'f'."

"I hope you're planning on holding that thought."

"First of all, Hockey Boy, there's no such thing as a hard 'f'. Second, if you're gonna name a sports team after a fucking plant, pick one that's actually menacing. Like a fly trap or creeping vines or something."

"The Toronto Creeping Vines?"

"You don't like that? More menace packed into the same number of syllables. It's genius."

"Whatever, the Leafs were menacing enough to beat the Red Wings."

"The what-who now?"

"Oh my god, shut up and kiss me, will you?"

**Day 3 - Morning**

"I love it when you say 'fuck'."

Simon gives him the slightest coy little smile and says, "Fuck," in his softest, deepest voice.

Tom makes a noise that's half groan, half growl, pulls Simon against himself and buries his face against Simon's neck. Simon's arms go around Tom's shoulders and a hand goes up to grip Tom's hair while Tom sucks a bruise into his skin. It's early on day three of their stay. They've been in bed since yesterday evening and plan to stay there until later tonight.

"I love it when you get out of the shower and you're all wet and glistening," Simon says. "It's obnoxious and I love it. Makes me wish I'd been in there with you."

"You know you're always welcome," Tom tells him. He's stopped kissing and now has his head propped up on his hand. His free hand stays on Simon, holding him around the waist. "What else?"

"I love it when your hair gets unruly and falls in your eyes. I love the way you look when you're reading."

"What?" Tom laughs.

"Your facial muscles relax and sometimes your mouth is open just slightly and your lips look so good, and your eyelids are slightly lowered and I can see your little eyelashes catching the light."

"You get all that from watching me read?"

"You're so fucking sexy, it's almost stupid."

"Nice to know you still think so. I'm not getting any younger, after all."

"Could've fooled me," Simon says, cuddling close and then kissing Tom's chest.

"You know what I love about you?" Tom says. "Your red hair."

"My what?" Simon stops cuddling and looks up at him incredulously.

"I'm not talking about your head." Tom slides his hand from Simon's waist, down between his legs and pets him there. "I'm talking about other places."

Simon gives him a smile, at first amused and then coy, looking like some intriguing thoughts are coming together behind his eyes. Tom is brushing the backs of his fingers up and down Simon's lower belly and is about to ask what's going on in his head when Simon sits up, nudges Tom over onto his back and gets on top of him, straddling his hips.

"I like where this is going," Tom says, greedy hands caressing Simon's hips and thighs. He spreads his legs and pushes up against Simon, grinding against him. His hips actually lift up off the mattress, making Simon arch his back and brace himself with his hands on Tom's thighs. "Letting me get a good look at you?" Tom asks.

"I know how much you like to do that."

"Used to make you all self-conscious and blushy."

"Got over that a long time ago. I like it when you look at me."

Tom's happy to do so now, biting his bottom lip as he takes in Simon's slender body. The sparse hair he has on his chest matches what's down below; gingery brown, even more gingery in sunlight. Tom runs a hand over Simon's flat tummy, fingertips teasing at the edges of his pubic hair.

"Stop looking for them, they're not there anymore," Simon warns.

"Yes, they are," Tom insists, the pads of his fingers pressing into the skin, searching for and finding the stomach muscles beneath. "Maybe not as obvious anymore since filming wrapped, but they're still there."

Tom's grinding is slow but steady as his hands explore Simon's pale, freckled skin. Simon does the same, bringing his hands around to the front and laying them on Tom's stomach, feeling the muscles there, up onto his chest to grip his pecs. He leans forward a little more to feel Tom shoulders and then down to his biceps.

"We should do this more often," Simon murmurs. "Just taking things in like this. We're usually too keen to get to the main event to stop and smell the roses. Or the toeses if you're into that."

"You know what? I think you're right." And Tom pulls Simon down into his arms for an extended cuddle.

**Day 3 - Evening**

"I knew you were gonna do this," Tom huffs.

"Do what?" Simon demands from the opposite side of the bed. He and Tom are standing on either side of it, having just gotten in from dinner. Simon's loosened his tie while Tom is unfastening his cuff links.

"We were getting along just fine," Tom insists.

"Debatable," Simon said coolly. "Sitting in companionable silence while we each do our own thing on our phones is a type of getting along, I suppose."

"Well, it's a hell of a lot better than it was four months ago."

"I had every right to be upset with you."

"I'm not saying you didn't!"

"Well, what _are_ you saying?"

"I –" Tom stops abruptly as his phone vibrates on his nightstand. He glances at it before he can stop himself.

"Something important?" Simon asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's nothing. Not as important as this, anyway. Where were we?"

"You were diminishing my concerns."

"I was no – god, Simon."

"You just can't take even the slightest criticism. How are we supposed to ever work anything out like _adults_ when you can't even listen to other people's opinions like one?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? _You_ can't take criticism! You have zero sense of humor about yourself. You can't mind your own business, you take things completely out of context and then comment on them like you're some kind of expert. I have never had anyone twist my words like you do –"

"Hang on. _You_ do that. You do all of that!"

"Yeah," Tom snaps, some of the wind instantly leaving his sails the second the word is out of his mouth. "But I'm less obvious about it," he adds in a mumble.

"Oh, bullshit. By the way, you can add 'sulking' to the list of your own offenses. You're impossible to talk to when you do that."

"Yeah, well at least I stick around. Can't talk to someone if you can't even get a hold of them."

Simon's finally quiet. Tom watches him lower his eyes to the floor and wonders if what he said was a step too far.

"You still haven't answered me," Simon says quietly, raising his eyes to Tom's face again. "What's next? All kidding and petty arguing aside, what are you gonna do to yourself next time? You've jumped off of every possible thing you could, you've almost drowned yourself on purpose, you literally injured yourself this last time, and then you _didn't fucking tell me about the_ –"

"I apologized for that."

"– scheduled drop off of a fucking helicopter, so that when it happened I nearly had a fucking heart attack!"

"That was a misunderstanding. I should've told you myself, I know that, but someone was supposed to have told you. The ball got dropped, that's all. No pun intended."

"D'you have any idea what it was like to get the call when you got hurt? It was only a split second of panic, but in that split second … I have never felt anything like that, that sort of visceral fear."

"Simon –"

"And then to just have to walk away and leave you to nearly crash a helicopter on purpose, knowing what could happen if things went wrong …"

"Simon," Tom gently says his name again as he goes around to Simon's side of the bed. There's an armchair in the corner there. He guides Simon back and down into the chair while he, Tom, drops down to his knees before Simon and takes both his hands. "I am so sorry."

Simon exhales, for a moment closing his eyes as if gathering himself. "I dunno, maybe I'm not being fair," he says in a much calmer tone.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not as if I didn't know what I was getting into with you."

"No, don't say that. You didn't know. You couldn't have, because I didn't. You think I had any idea I'd be hanging off the side of a plane in flight? You think I saw any of this coming? There's no way you could've known. Don't put that on yourself."

Simon just looks at him, examines his face, his hair, finally reaches out to finger-comb his unruly bangs. "Your hair is ridiculous, you know that?"

Tom smiles sadly up at him. "Are we gonna be okay?"

"I thought we were. This weekend was supposed to be for us to reconnect."

"Given our history I'd say we're right on track. There's always a big argument just before we … uh …"

"Forgive each other."

"Over and over," Tom adds with a grin.

Simon gives him a coy little smile, arching an eyebrow for just a second. The storm seems to have passed, but Tom knows there are still clouds overhead. They need to be dealt with. He stands up and perches on the armrest of the chair Simon's sitting in.

"The answer is I don't know," he says somberly. "I don't know what's next. McQ and I have talked about it, but nothing's definite right now, and … I don't know. I can tell you, though, that I would never, ever do anything that I wasn't one hundred percent certain I could do. You know that. If I'm not sure, it doesn't happen."

"I know," Simon says, somber now too. He seems unconvinced, and Tom supposes he can't blame him. Fate doesn't care about Tom's certainty, after all.

"Do you wanna be in on all the planning?" Tom asks. "You have every right to know exactly what's going on before any decisions are made. Next time McQ and I talk about it, I want you present. And if you're really against something, I won't do it."

"Now, see, that's a problem. Do you have any idea how much power that is? Yeah, you're just you, you're just Tom, but you're also _him_. The movie star, the myth. What you do on set is who that guy is to the whole world, and you're telling me that I have the power to stop him doing what Tom Cruise is known to do? That's a lot, Tom."

"Yeah, well, you really do have a lotta power over me. You know that. You've always known that. I thought you were comfortable with it."

"With the way I can distract you by wearing the right shirt, yeah, that's fine. But stopping you from doing the very thing that you do, that everyone expects you to do, the thing that makes you happiest? That's another thing entirely. It's like caging a bird."

"Is that what this is about? You don't feel you have the right to tell me not to do something? Simon, that's bullshit. Of course you do." Tom reaches down for Simon's left hand, holds it up and takes the ring finger between his own fingers. "What do you think this means? It's not just a ring. It's not just the thing that tells everyone you're taken. It's a contract. It's the rights that you have within this relationship. You can say no. You can tell me no."

Simon seems to ponder that, looking at the ring on his finger while Tom is still holding it. "You know, when _Rogue Nation_ came out, the tabs started calling me Yoko."

Tom has to smile, barely stifles a laugh. "The tabloids can eat my dick," he says, trying to be serious and failing slightly. "Look, you're my husband. If something doesn't work for you, then it doesn't work for me. You've gotta get over that guilt. You can't just hold all this stuff inside you all the time. If something I'm doing is bugging you, I need to know before you reach your breaking point. Okay? Promise me."

Simon nods. "I promise. I'm sorry. You're right, I should've said something before we had that big fight four months ago. Shit, speaking of the tabloids –"

"Yeah, you told me that they know something's up with us," Tom muttered irritably. "They're wrong about every other thing. How is this the one thing they get right?"

"We weren't exactly subtle. I left home for weeks for seemingly no reason. They worked out that I was staying with Edgar. By the way, they think I'm having an affair with him."

"Simon, why the hell do you know all this?"

"My sister," Simon sighs. "She derives a particularly nasty sort of joy from keeping me apprised on these things. Actually, I think she's just fishing for info, trying to suss out what's real."

"Well, there's nothing we can do except ignore it."

"Or …"

"Or?"

"We know exactly what the fans like. Well, some of them probably won't be happy 'til we leak a sex tape, but barring that … we've got a press tour coming up. Plenty of opportunities to prove that our marriage is not, in fact, on the rocks. Let's stop just short of sex tape, how 'bout that?"

"What, like more touching?" Tom asks, dropping his voice low.

"Mm-hm," Simon agrees, matching Tom's tone. "A lot more touching. And secretive little glances."

"And little whispers," Tom says, leaning down to plant tiny kisses on Simon's lips.

"Anything that suggests we've forgotten that people can see us," Simon says.

"And a few things that suggest we know exactly what we're doing."

"I love it when we're on the same page."

END

**[Tumblr](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://twitter.com/MaxWrite)**

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**Author's Note:**

>  **End Note:** [Gif set showing that Simon and Rebecca Ferguson did not know about the helicopter fall.](https://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/181951660540/ineverhadadoubt-mission-impossible-fallout-japan)


End file.
